Best Rat Poems
Like the pompous pied piper leading the way,
chirping his tune of a dawning new day,
frustrations were championed, oh how we followed,
the ego stuffed shirt of a suit cold and hollow.
From the top of the hill, he showed us the view,
convincing our eyes it was harshly askew.
Nearing the cliffs as if caught in a spell,
he fed us like lambs from his poisonous well.
Touting sweet taste of his truth well embittered,
ignoring the signs of nonsensical twitter,
rot with the smell of the nations decay,
we drank from his cup of a water so gray.
Watching and waiting for gifts of his gruel,
the masses assured we were not made a fool,
his promise of greatness was all we could see,
with great expectations of how it would be.
There's no turning back once we swore the man in,
believing bright futures were soon to begin,
blinding frustration gave evil its day
for the pompous pied piper to lead us astray.
He led us to thinking, all driven by fear,
then gave his directives so cryptically clear,
stripping the values by which we would stand
before the American dream had been banned.
Addicted to all the attention and glory,
swiftly he moved to remain the top story,
insisting on walls made of concrete and steel
built by the anger and hate we should feel.
Then some were shaken, disrupting his spell
and found he was stealing our Liberty Bell.
The fog began lifting and soon we would see
the piper exposed as the fraud he would be.
Time has a way, proven over again,
of playing its imminent part.
The shedding of light upon every mans soul,
exposing his darkness of heart.
No longer seduced by the piping we hear,
choosing to see through the veil,
Democracy once again fights to survive,
let us all pray we prevail!
-Jeannie Cronin
Drivin' down the road
Slingin' a banana peel
It will rot it surely will
There's a park'n at stores
Handicapped spaces galore
No one will notice I'm sure
Now at Wally World
In the park'n lot
I'll not put my cart in that spot
Rebellious attitudes
Are totally Rat-I-Tude
Throned green eyed rat in
golden trap of cheesy poo
he rules like a king
This is the tale of a soul reaching out to others,
but receiving a cold shoulder wherever she goes.
Words and phrases
are misconstrued,
meanings attached
which cloud the issues
which she wishes
to address.
A passel
of jaded poets condescending;
who sear and cauterise
synapses
of intellect, and
in the
bud,
it’s
vim.
I
don’t
give
a
rat’s tail anymore.
Copyright © Suzette Richards | Year Posted 2019
REPOSTED 11 July 2021 with white space added between the lines.
POET'S NOTE: The expression with reference to a rat that I use in my shaped poem, could perhaps be related to a phrase ‘don't give a dead rat’ from Mark Twain’s The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (1884).
‘The Mouse’s Tale’ (which was my inspiration for this concrete shape) is a shaped poem by Lewis Carroll which appears in his novel Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. Though no formal title for the poem is given in the text, the chapter title refers to ‘A Long Tale’ and the Mouse introduces it by saying, ‘Mine is a long and sad tale!’ As well as the contribution of typography to illustrate the intended pun in this title, artists later made the intention clear as well.
Big armadillo
invading my privacy
you are a leper
I have a cat that wears no hat;
though her paws do love to bat,
her mice and balls,
all through my hall.
A clever cat,
a feisty cat,
I made her a nice catnip rat;
my hyper-active tabby cat.
A cat with tail all poofed and fluffed;
her claws are never, ever rough;
they’re so sharp and needle-like;
my god, they’re really more like spikes!
All through the night she bounds and plays;
sometimes in a catnip haze.
All day long she’s in a snooze;
fortunately, she doesn’t drink any booze.
I know she’s been on my computer,
looking for a kitty-suitor.
The claw marks on my keyboard tell,
without me hearing her collar bell.
Her favorite website, “Kitten Caboodle”;
actually sells tuna noodles.
I know because my credit card,
had more than thirty orders charged!
A confrontation did ensue;
she wound up with her ego bruised.
Pouting cat took paws that bat,
took out her frustration on catnip rat.
I tell you honestly,
I tell you true;
be grateful she doesn’t
belong to you.
Written 3-7-19
For Contest: "Honoring Dr. Seuss Poetry Contest"
Sponsor: Michelle Faulkner
Lab Rat
I feel like a lab rat
Property of this or that
Choices no longer mine to make
What’s the point to life for goodness sake?
A pill for your troubles and a pat on the back
Compassion for others is what they really lack
All the pricking, poking and a prodding
Has got my spirit just a rotting
All the sitting and a waiting
Has got my spirit debating
A place where they are so cold to the touch
A place where your spirit doesn’t mean much
A place where they are rude and their prices are high
The very thought of them just makes me want to sigh
Why do I allow them to use me so?
Is it my fear that makes me sink so low?
Maybe it is the pain I am in
That makes me come to this place again
They never make it any better for me
Everyone is their little experiment you see
With each patient that comes through
They learn a little more but it doesn’t help you
And although you know yourself better then your host
Your opinions they seem to hate the most
Apparently now we make our own selves sick
Its our thoughts or our habits, take your pick
Antibiotics withheld for the sake of defense
Yet dropping our guard just doesn’t seem to make any sense
With what do we use to fight these ugly beasts
While in your blood it sits and it feasts
Making you weaker by the day
Because they don’t want to help you in any way
Narcotics and poisons their only method of choice
And there you sit drugged…silent without a voice
Refuse them and you will see
They’ll label you incompetent and won’t ever set you free
They want you alive but don’t care if you are living
They want to watch until your spirit stops its giving
Once you expire it means nothing to them
You’re a lab rat swept away by the doctors on a whim.
They look at us
as if we were just lab rats,
and maybe, we are.
Who knows or cares?
I definitely do care.
I know that
I'm part wolf and human.
I don't want to know how much wolf
is in my DNA.
If I knew, I would know
that I am a glorified lab rat.
When Filey's rebel rousing rats,
Were terrorising local cats,
Who would not engage in rodent wars
Refusing even, to go outdoors.
No match for rats, that scavenge scraps,
Instead they sat on old maids laps.
While alley cats who acted tough,
Those rabid rats ignored their bluff.
Until George Burton's name, became folklore
When he destroyed those vermin, by the score.
And with his most aggressive stance,
Those rodents simply, never had a chance.
Then he would say, when quite certain.
Another one's down, it's gone for a Burton.
1/ 10/ 2022.
This is a rather whimsical tribute to the pest controller
George Burton. Who helped the town of Filey North Yorkshire
to maintain health and safety. As a request from his granddaughter.
Rat-a-tat, Rat-a-tat, Rat-a-tat-tat
sounds of war, tattered fife, ragged drum
In feathered cap, Yankee Doodle went to town
where he met a clever man named Madison
Wrote up a constitution, though not for everyone
rights for whites -- but not for blacks or browns...
Now it's 2 1/2 strife-torn centuries later
some love the USA; others hate her
Rat-a-tat, Rat-a-tat, Rat-a-tat-tat
so many promises ~ fallen flat
Machine-gun fire nightly in 'most every city
'Twas it all for naught ~ 'twould be a pity
Angst
Pressure
Tension Builds
Nerves Tautly Wound
Stomach's Knot Tightens
Imminent Deadline
Boss's Threats
Pressure
Angst
Mother Rat
The queen of common suffering
is a pregnant rat.
She lifts a perfume atomizer
from a dumpster-
for its chandelier glint,
lilac smell,
mint vodka taste,
soft squeeze-bulb feel,
and 'pfffit pfffit' sound.
A good mother steals with all 5 senses.
She has fifty children.
She's a brown city rat.
She pretends it doesn't bother her.
Her littlest one is dying.
I have a powerful craving for poison.
I must be pregnant again.
Why are men so weak?
She has broad shoulders for a rat.
They haul the tools of litters:
shreds and bits and medicines,
extra beads of fresh blood.
I will provide.
There is no discussion.
While giving dinner, she asks,
Spray my haunches, would ya, Hun?
'pfffit pfffit.'
She's not without good breeding.
She wants to feel like she's
more than a good mother.
Wants to so much.
Just for tonight.
Before any pups can stow away,
She scurries out, humming
"I like the nightlife."
And just like that, she's free.
She's fat and happy and singing
and she's not ashamed of her tail
and she's strutting down garbage avenue
on hind legs like John Travolta.
Faster, faster.
Suddenly she's hiking through
centuries of rat narrative:
Rodent purges. Rat diasporas.
The 2nd Albino Civil War.
Bubonic Enlightenment.
The Norwegian Post Erotic movement.
Faster.
What's happening to me?
Please let it not be the arsenic,
not here in the promised land!
I've been meaning to cut back.
Her eyes are sparkling ruby beads,
but now they're flickering out.
Her long red tongue stands erect
between rows of inward daggers.
She is still beautiful.
Matlock the hare has a good life
He is alone now, he has lost his wife.
But his offspring are near, visiting each day.
He loves his evenings, when they are far away.
Matlock loves to sit in front of the fire.
Wearing his warm pajamas near Lincolnshire.
With baby kangaroo on his lap, they are both cozy.
The mantle’s candlesticks smell like a fresh new posy.
His pet rat named Egbert watches the basket for worms.
They come out in the evening, with a touch of a squirm.
A delicacy for him, he keeps the house clear of a cat.
This is the perfect place if you are a rabbit or a rat.
words 114
You follow the rat races,
Climbing ladders that never end,
Surrounded by faces,
But not one you could call friend,
You stare hungrily at your reflection,
Picking apart your every inch,
Believing beauty leads to connection,
But would it save you in a pinch?
You spend like there's no tomorrow,
Yet for the poor you've naught to spare,
But if it became your turn to borrow,
Would it shock you when none will care,
You trust blindly in your societies,
That if you do it all you will win,
But you end up drowning in anxieties,
From the emptiness you feel within.
How much do they know
Who are the blabbers
Who are the rat finks
It is my sister
Could bro be that low?
Is a rumor
A blatant lie
Fabrication
I start to yell
People laugh
Relatives
At outburst
Sheepish
I look
Downward
Sad